


A Taste of Honey

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Sussex Retirement [14]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7429917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after Holmes and Watson retire to their cottage in a Sussex village, there is the promise of Holmes' own honey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preparation

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 written for LJ's Holmes Minor prompt "Bees"

My Dear Hopkins,

I was delighted to hear you and your family will be returning to Sussex for a week at the end of August.  We are looking forward to seeing you, Annie and the family.  When I see we, I am including Holmes in this, although I have seen very little of him lately.

Do not be alarmed at this statement, Holmes is not ill, indeed he has rarely looked better during these past few years.  However, as you can imagine, he is outside with his bees the greater part of the day.  He is caring for them with the same single minded attention he used to give to his more difficult cases, although now at least he is eating regularly.

(I can take no credit for this.  You will remember our housekeeper, Mrs Maiden.  She has informed Holmes that bees look to their keeper, and if he does not ensure he has sufficient nourishment the bees will not do so either.  I do not believe this, and I suspect she does not either, but since it has the desired effect, I am perfectly happy to acquiesce.)

Holmes, as you might expect, is keeping meticulous records.  He seems to be realistic about the quantity of honey he can anticipate, but I can see in his eyes he is hopeful he will have a reasonable sum.

I believe he has grown fond of his bees.  He certainly tells them all the news, whether important or not.  I could feel jealous, but he does endeavour to keep me informed too.  Although occasionally, when I say he has not mentioned something minor to me, he says, “I’m sure I told you.  Maybe I only told the bees.”

He has set up wasp traps to protect his hives and checks everyday to ensure no mouse has tried to make an entry. 

He was enchanted the other day to discover a quote from King Charles II’s royal beekeeper, who said, “A bee is an exquisite chemist _._ ” He is currently reading a transcript of “The Feminine Monarchie”, by Charles Butler, who, Holmes informed me, is the Father of English Beekeeping and published his book in 1609.  I believe Holmes is thinking of writing a treatise of his own, and is organising his notes with a view to producing a practical handbook for the beginner.

I, too, have spent a large part of this summer out-of-doors.  Although in my case I have been assisting Seth with my flowers.  They may not produce such long-term results as we hope the honey will be, but the colours have been glorious and I have been well satisfied with what we have achieved.  It is indeed most enjoyable to spend an afternoon sitting in the sun, soaking in the sight.  And dozing a little, if I am honest.

But enough for now,

I remain your good friend,

John H Watson


	2. Interlude (Florrie's description of Holmes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for LJ's Watson's Woes, July Writing Prompt #22, a child's eye view.

A few days after I had sent my letter to Hopkins, I received the following reply:

_Dear Dr Watson,_

_We too are looking forward to seeing you and, if we are lucky, trying a little of Mr Holmes’ honey._

_I am very pleased to tell you Florrie has done really well at school this year.  She even received a school prize and as you can imagine Stanley and I are very proud of her.  We thought you might be interested to see some of her work._

_With our best wishes_

_Annie Hopkins_

I turned with interest to see Florrie’s essay.  It was written in beautiful handwriting and I smiled to myself as I read it through, before neatly putting it to one side to show to Holmes when he came in for lunch.

***

**Someone I look up to by Florence Hopkins**

Mr Sherlock Holmes is a friend of my Papa’s.  He is now an old man.  When he was younger he used to live in Baker Street, in London, but now he has moved to live in a cottage in a village in Sussex.

Although he is old and his hair is white, he still looks at everything very carefully.  He says it is not enough to see something, but to observe it as well.  This means you do not just think “That is a pretty butterfly,” but also “Why is that butterfly here?  What is it doing?  Which plants does it like?”  This means you know a lot more about the butterfly than what colour its wings are.

Mr Holmes used to observe people when he lived in London.  He did that to find out what they had done and help to catch criminals.  Papa says Mr Holmes could look at three sets of footprints and tell him about each of the three people who had made them.

Mr Holmes always looks serious because he says we should be serious about the things we do, for it is important to do them to the best of our ability.  But he also says we should enjoy things, like nature and going on picnics.

Mr Holmes lives with his friend Dr John Watson.  Dr Watson is a very kind man.  He is old too, and has to use a stick when he walks.  He is the reason my Mamma and Papa met.

When I am grown up I am going to practice all the things Mr Holmes has taught me, and join the police like Papa.  I shall be very proud to be like both Mr Holmes and Dr Watson and serve my community.

 

 

 


	3. A Taste of Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for LJ's Older not Dead, New Beginnings Challenge, prompt A Taste of Honey

The anticipation when Holmes came to remove the first of his frames from the hives was intense.  Seth had arranged for a friend of his, a distant cousin I believe, to assist.  Although Holmes would have denied it, he was as tense as when in years gone by he was waiting for a vital telegram.

I was grateful Holmes no longer smoked as much as he once did, for if that had been the case, the cottage would have been full of foul pipe smoke.  And Mrs Maiden would have been even less happy than she was, having been berated by Holmes on her arrival for not being Seth’s cousin; a fact she could hardly be blamed for.

Fortunately for me, I had been invited to join Tom Hill for the day at his daughter, Sarah Farrow’s farm, which was where Hopkins and his family were once again staying.  In fact, I was so keen to go, I was standing in the lane waiting for George Hill, who had offered to drive me over, a full ten minutes before he arrived.

When I arrived at the farm, I discovered Hopkins was having a rest.  Knowing how ill he’d been in the spring I was rather concerned, until Annie told me gleefully he had been out the previous evening with Sarah’s husband, Ben, to a neighbouring farm, where there had been some locally brewed ale to try.  And according to Sarah, it was a good thing the horse knew its way home, because otherwise they wouldn’t have made it back.

Of course, this set Tom and I to reminiscing about our own younger days, with the exaggerations which are permitted in the older generation.  Sarah merely tutted at us, and gave us a bowl of peas to shell, saying we could at least do something useful with our time.

Hopkins appeared in time for the midday meal, still looking slightly pale, but otherwise in good health.  He gave a rueful smile when he saw me.

“I assume you have been told about last evening,” he said.

“I have indeed,” I replied, “but don’t worry.  One should be entitled to some enjoyment whilst on holiday.”

“It may yet prove expensive,” he replied.  “Apparently I promised Annie last night she could go to the market tomorrow, and buy material for new dresses for her and the girls.  I cannot remember saying this at all.”

The casual listener might have inferred Annie had made this up, but the way Hopkins and his wife looked at each other left me in no doubt he was entirely happy about the suggestion.  When I watch them I see myself and my Mary again, and feel a slight twinge of sadness our life together was cut short before we had children.  But that being said, I would not swap my retirement with Holmes for anyone.

“And are you obliged to go shopping with her?” I asked.

“No, apparently it would be better if I were to stay here with the boys.”

Once we had eaten Hopkins and I went for a short stroll around the farm together, and then George Hill arrived to take myself and his father back to our respective homes.  Despite enjoying the day, I was keen to get back to see how Holmes had got on; clearly, some of his enthusiasm had rubbed off on me.

On my arrival home, I went into the parlour, where I found Holmes relaxing in one of the armchairs.  The expression on his face was similar to one I had occasionally seen in our early days together, when he was still making use of his ‘seven per cent solution’.  However, as soon as I had walked in he leapt to his feet.

“Watson,” he said, “you must try some.  There is a little in the bowl here.”

He gave me a teaspoon and I dipped the end into the clear liquid.  “This is very good, Holmes,” I said, once I had tried it.

“It is more than very good,” he replied.  “It is exquisite.  My bees have excelled themselves.”

His happiness was obvious.  He had shown the same dedication to the bees as he had to his cases in years past.  It had taken over a year to bring his work to fruition, and although I knew he would strive to make improvements in the coming years, he would never forget his first sweet taste of success.  I smiled and shared in his happiness.


	4. The First Jars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for LJ's Older not Dead, Amnesty for Prompt #24 Gifts

We had arranged for Hopkins and his family to join us for an early lunch before they returned to London after their holiday.  Once more the time had passed extremely quickly, and once again I felt no envy at their return to the city.  In fact, if I had been content in our situation when they had last visited at Easter, I was even more content now having spent over a year in our cottage.

Holmes, as I had expected, was out with his bees, or doing something with his honey.  After the initial taste he had refused to give me any further information as to what he was doing, apart from to say all was going well.  It was not entirely unexpected; he had enjoyed being the master of surprise during his working life, which at times had unnerved his clients, he was not going to change now.

I had reminded him of the lunch arrangements, and he had faithfully promised to be in before noon. Meanwhile I myself had been banished to read my paper in the garden by Mrs Maiden, who was busy preparing lunch and had refused my offer of help, declaring I would only be under her feet. There are days when she reminds me very forcibly of Mrs Hudson.

I was therefore surprised when I caught sight of Holmes’ shadow as he entered the cottage just before eleven o’clock.  A few minutes later Mrs Maiden called out to me and asked if I could assist her in the sitting room.  I could not imagine what might need doing, but nevertheless went inside as requested.

Instead of finding our housekeeper in the sitting room, I saw Holmes.  He looked almost bashful, and I wondered what he had done.  Then he held his hand out to me, and I saw he was holding a jar of honey; his first jar.  He gave it to me and as I accepted it I saw the label.

It said simply _Holmes Honey_ and underneath was an intricate drawing of a bee.  In smaller writing, below the bee, was written _for John Watson, the greatest friend a man could ever have_.

 I looked up from the label and at Holmes, who said, “The first of my honey for the first and best man I know.”

It is said that as we grow older we become more susceptible to emotion.  I cannot say if this is in fact true, but I know I could feel a tear running down my cheek.  “Holmes,” I said, “thank you.”  I could say no more.

After a few minutes, when I had managed to compose myself, Holmes explained he had sufficient honey for not only our needs, but additional jars which in future years he would sell.  This year, however, he had decided to give them away as tokens of his thanks for those who had helped him during this year. 

Then he added, “And for you, dear boy, had to be the first jar, for you above everyone else has encouraged me in this new life of ours.”  I was almost overcome by emotion again, but he slapped me lightly on the back and said, “I think I can hear the sound of cart wheels, which means our guests are arriving.”

We had an extremely enjoyable lunch.  Mrs Maiden was persuaded to join us, and she and Annie discussed the art of making pictures with pressed flowers.  The two little girls had been so enchanted with the many flowers they had seen, they were taking samples which they had started to press home with them. 

Holmes, Hopkins and I discussed the differences between town and country.  Hopkins mentioned certain articles he had read, which extolled country life and how all was perfect for the inhabitants.  Holmes made a face at this, and commented that there continued to be crimes committed, despite the apparent beauty.  Hopkins nodded, saying this came as no surprise, for human nature remains the same, wherever people may live.  However, before our conversation had been able to take a more philosophical turn, it was time for Hopkins and his family to leave.

Holmes presented Annie and Hopkins with a jar of his honey, this time inscribed _for Mr & Mrs Stanley Hopkins and family, our friends_.  And there was a small jar of honey, with a tiny bee on the label, which said _for Florrie with best wishes for your future in serving the community_.  In addition, Holmes asked them to pass on a jar to our old friend Lestrade.

We waved Hopkins and his family off at the gate and when we came back indoors I went into the kitchen, where I saw a row of honey jars, all labelled up.  There was one for Seth, and another for Ellen and the boys, and Mrs Maiden had already received hers.  I was curious what Holmes had written on the label, but she had turned it away.  However, when she left the kitchen to collect some plates I had a quick look.  It said simply _for Mrs Maiden for understanding_.

Later, when Mrs Maiden had finished clearing up and gone to her own home, and Holmes and I were seated in our arm chairs, I said, “Your labels are very thoughtful.  I am sure the recipients will all be most touched.

“And you, dear boy.  How do you like yours?”

“You already know my feelings.  I only wish I could give you something similar in return.”

“But you already have done.  You grew the flowers which you knew my bees would like.  I could have asked for nothing better.”

“In which case, I am content.  And when I have eaten every drop of your honey I shall keep the jar as a constant reminder of your affection.”


End file.
